


The Other One

by cminerva



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, F/M, Spoilers for 6x05, Tahiti flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cminerva/pseuds/cminerva
Summary: Melinda seeks release with the man who wears the face of the one she loves while her mind takes her back to Tahiti.





	The Other One

**Author's Note:**

> This idea started growing after 6x05 (“The Other Thing”) and you can feel free to imagine this scene anytime from 6x05 onward. Ming herself has said Melinda’s a little turned on by Sarge and I do love a healthy dose of angst, so this whole May/Coulson/Sarge mess really works for me.

He’s not Coulson. Melinda knows this. This man - the one that shares the DNA, the face, the voice, the body of the man she loved - is an ancient being from another planet. Or a really advanced LMD. Or a god. Or some other bullshit the universe has seen fit to throw at her. Whatever he is, Melinda is very clear on the fact that he’s not Coulson. The face still hurts her, as does his voice. Rough and mocking, that voice still manages to evoke memories of the voice she never grew tired of hearing. Still, she knows it’s not the man she loved, loves. So when Melinda kisses him, roughly, angrily, her actions full of hate and spite, she tells herself it’s nothing more than release. A release of tension, anger, and something dark and unspoken that has lingered between them.

They grab each other roughly, all hands and teeth and bodies slammed into the cold walls of his truck. This soldier from another realm has been less than subtle about his desire for her, but Melinda has been fighting this until now.

When Sarge enters her, roughly, her palms pressed up against the wall the way she’d maneuvered them, she clears her mind and thinks of nothing but this: this imposter, the one fucking her now, hitting all the right spots, maintating the tempo she prefers. He slides a hand up her stomach and under her bra, gripping her breast. Her breath catches and as her eyes close, she’s there with _him_. 

_Phil gently pushed away the straps of her sundress, his fingertips grazing her collarbone as his warm, calloused hands move softly across her breasts, making her sigh. She’d straddled him as he lay on the lounge chair, this time on top by necessity, rather than preference. His touch is gentle, and less steady than the day before. Her heart hurts._

Melinda whimpers in spite of herself and pushes the other man’s hand away, moving it to her hip. He grips her, hard, and continues to thrust. Her forehead hits the wall and she thinks of Phil. Of making love in Tahiti. It was beautiful, and slow and gentle, because he was dying and that was what they could give each other. 

This, this was everything their time in Tahiti was not: a hard, angry fuck against the wall. How many times over the past decades had she wanted this from Phil? She hated herself for thinking it, but the passion she held for Phil had never been given the chance to be set free. Their long goodbye at the beach while his body gradually weakened had required that she mute the intensity of everything she’d wanted to share with him.

And now this man with the face of the man she loved was here, and whole, and full of life. And desire. Melinda hated herself for wanting him, but she did. 

Sarge’s harsh breaths were hot against her neck, his teeth sharp on her shoulder, 

_Warm eyes held her gaze as she moved above him, her dress bunched around her waist. Her hands were braced on either side of Phil’s torso to avoid putting any weight on his injured chest._

_“Melinda.” His voice, the intensity in that stare, the gentle pressure on her breasts. In her memory, Phil’s prosthetic hand dropped down to her hip and squeezed, just a little too hard._

Back in the present, the warm, living, hand on her hip gripped her harder as it’s owner’s breathing grew more ragged, Melinda cried out in spite of herself as the feeling of the strong hand on her hip aligned with the one in her memory. Her mind held fast to the image of Phil’s face as she came, while Sarge held her tight to him as he followed soon after.

Melinda pressed her face into the wall and braced herself, then reached behind her to push Sarge away roughly, He gave a harsh, humorless laugh.

“Fuck off,” she said quietly, firmly. She faced the wall as she adjusted her clothes, refusing to look at the man behind her, terrified of what she would see, of what she would feel.

“Hey, whatever you want lady.” His words came out in a rasp, his breathing still heavy, but the mocking tone was impossible to miss.

She heard the rustling of clothes, the opening and closing of the door leading to the truck’s cab, then silence. Her forehead fell against the wall as her mind brought her back to the warm beach and Phil’s face beneath her.

_Melinda braced herself above him on the lounge chair, her limbs trembling as her body recovered from her orgasm. Phil brushed the hair from her face and pulled her close for a soft kiss. The world around them grew still and silent, save for the crashing of the waves behind them and the steady pounding of their hearts beating as one._


End file.
